


Something about Tuesday's

by perpetuallyorbiting



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Slow Burn, roommate au, there's a happy ending i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-01-16 09:43:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18518866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetuallyorbiting/pseuds/perpetuallyorbiting
Summary: Weiss moves out on a Sunday. Blake moves in on a Tuesday. Yang falls in love on a Saturday.Blake is gone by Sunday.(She returns on a Tuesday.)Or the one AU where Blake and Yang are roommates and they slowly fall in love.





	1. it began on a Sunday

 

**Sunday**

 

Three days notice. That’s all the time Weiss had to pack up her belongings and move south to take over the family business. And Yang? She was pissed.

 

Weiss had told her over dinner, and Yang couldn’t help but hate good ol’ Daddy Dear Schnee even more. And Yang told her as such.

 

“For the love of God, Yang, please never call my father that again.”

 

And with such short notice, the packing process began quickly.

 

“So this is for real, huh?” Yang had asked dejectedly as she watched Weiss pack her items from atop her dresser into cardboard boxes.

 

“Oh, come on, Yang, you sound like this is breakup or something.” Weiss commented incredulously.

 

“Well, it is. I mean, roommate breakups are tough too, and you can’t judge me for being emotional about it.” Yang stood to tape the full box.

 

“I’m _so_ judging you for this.” Weiss said with a shake of her head as she grabbed a new box to pack the contents within the drawers. “Plus, you can easily find a new roommate on Tinder or something.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how people use Tinder.” Yang remarked as she moved the box to the stack by the door.

 

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you.” Weiss returned with a smirk. When Yang only stared blankly at her, she continued. “Post something on a local Facebook group, I don’t know.”

 

“But you cook and you let me play my music loud.” Yang said dejectedly, sitting on her bed with her shoulders slumped. “You’re not a criminal and you’re clean—”

 

“I clean up after you.”

 

“You do the dishes, but still. I don’t want a murderer for a roommate.”

 

“Anyone who spends more than a day with you will inevitably have murderous tendencies.” Weiss looked over her shoulder at Yang and ducked when a pillow comes flying at her head. “Oh, come on! You’re allowed to make jokes like that about me!”

 

“Yeah,” Yang said, voice still flat. “But I’m actually funny.”

 

So that lead to now, outside in the driveway, with the birds chirping, the breeze soothing, and Weiss leaving. Yang grumbles about the unfairness of it.

 

“Your father is an asshole.”

 

“Yeah, Yang, I know.”

 

“Good thing he’s dying.”

 

That earns a laugh from Weiss and Yang smiles despite the lost-puppy feeling that’s slowly seeping into her bones.

 

The girls hug and Yang holds Weiss’ head against her shoulder.

 

“Who’s going to help me do the dishes now?” Yang complains.

 

“Okay, nope.” Weiss pushes away from Yang. “I’m leaving.”

 

Weiss seats herself in her car, gets ready to pull out of the driveway. “I’ll call you once I get there.”

 

“You’ll be so far away.” Yang says with a pout as she leans into the window. No, she knows Weiss will be irritated by her tone, but if she doesn’t give her best friend a hard time, is she really doing her job?

 

“I hate you Yang.”

 

“Love you too, Weiss!” She smacks the top of the car, signaling for Weiss to leave. Yang is left standing in the driveway, an empty house behind her for the first time in two years.

 

***

 

It’s a Thursday when Yang begins to consider finding a roommate. And well, sure it’s lonely in such a big house, but she’s been busy with her graduate program and finally fixing up her motorbike in time for the warmer weather. She doesn’t necessarily need a roommate to keep her company, she’s fine on her own.

 

Most surprising point of all, it’s Sun who convinces her to get a roommate.

 

“Your rent can’t be cheap, Yang! You could totally get a roommate so easily, anyways.” Sun exclaims as he downs the rest of his beer.

 

Yang looks back and forth between Sun and Neptune, both sitting on her couch while Yang herself is perched on the arm of the living chair. “Neptune, control him.”

 

“That’s kinky.” Sun remarks.

 

“Well that proves it,” says Neptune. “He’s uncontrollable.”

 

They both watch as Sun leaps over the back of the couch and rummages through the fridge. Yang takes a sip from her own bottle.

 

“But he might also have a point.”

 

“Not you too, Neptune. I don’t need a roommate. A couple more shifts a week and rent will be no problem, and it isn’t like I’m lonely or anything.”

 

“Maybe not lonely, but we can’t keep coming over to drink your beer for you.”

 

“Shut up, Neptune.” Comes from the kitchen. “She always has good shit.”

 

Sun walks over with a new bottle and slings an arm across Yang’s shoulder. “Maybe you could find a hot roommate and you could date her like in that TV show Neptune watches.”

 

Yang ducks out of the way of a pillow sent sailing towards Sun and smacks him in the face. “Shut up, Sun.” Neptune grumbles.

 

***

 

It’s a Friday when Yang posts an advertisement on a Facebook group.

 

_You sound so awkward in that post_ , Weiss says over the phone, cringe evident in her voice. _I’m surprised anyone has messaged you at all._

 

“It isn’t like it’s anyone decent anyways.” Yang responds. “Half of them are probably murderers.”

 

_What is it with you and suspecting everyone of murder?_ Weiss questions.

 

“I’m just being vigilant. Especially after living with you, I’m well aware of how violent even the innocent ones can be.”

 

_Now you’re just an ass._ Weiss says exasperatedly. _You’re only giving me more motive._

 

“I’ll be sure to leave a note that lets the police know they need to make you the prime suspect in case of my murder.”

 

***

 

It’s a Saturday and she’s blocked four more users who’ve sent vulgar messages. Profiles who didn’t take _I just want a decent roommate_ , or _I’m gay_ , or _no_ as acceptable answers.

 

But another conversation over the phone with Weiss offers new hope.

 

“I still haven’t found a roommate,” Yang complains into the phone as she paces through her kitchen.

 

_Actually, I have a friend who might be a good option for you. She’s great,_ Weiss enthuses from the other end of the line. _Super nice, well-spoken, incredibly smart. I think you two would get along great!_

 

“She must be halfway decent if she lives up to your mile-high standards.” Yang says as she fidgets with the magnets on her fridge. “And you’re still alive, which means she isn’t a serial killer.”

 

_Fuck you, Yang_ . Weiss’ groan echoes through the phone’s speaker. _And don’t you dare make another joke about that._

 

Yang releases a booming laugh into her quiet home. “On a serious note, if she needs a place to stay and is willing to pitch in for bills, give me her number and I’ll see if she lives up to _my_ standards.”

 

_As if you have any,_ grumbles the heiress. _But I’ll send you her contact and you can get hold of her. Oh, and Yang…_

 

“Hm?”

 

_Just tread carefully with her._ Weiss says almost timidly. _She’s been through a lot of big changes recently, so don’t come off too strong like you usually do._

 

Before Yang can defend herself, Weiss throws in a _do the dishes_ and cuts the line. After her annoyance at being so blatantly called out, she recalls the tone of Weiss’ voice. Why be so fleeting about it? Although Yang has a habit of coming off strong, she’s also incredible at reading her audience (in her opinion). Though, if Weiss is worried, then it must be reasonable. But Yang would never say that to her face.

 

Just as Yang is drying her hands after washing the dishes (because even from hundreds of miles away, Weiss is somehow still able to boss her around), her phone chimes with a text from the heiress with the contact information. The contact is titled with the name of _Blake_ , and Yang considers her options. As Facebook hasn’t been much help, and her friends are a bunch of sore loser with no decent connections to anyone needing a place to stay, Blake doesn’t seem like a terrible option.

 

Yang’s phone chimes once more.

 

**3:23pm**

**Ice Queen:** Stop thinking about it so hard and just call her. Don’t be stubborn about it this time.

 

Damn Weiss’ seemingly psychic abilities and her unending influence in Yang’s important decisions. Nevertheless, Yang does as she’s told (probably to Wiess’ very distant amusement) and dials the number attached to Blake’s contact information. Yang begins to pace after the third ring, but stops dead in her tracks, convinced the whole world has stopped moving, once the line clicks and a questioning voice answers with a simple greeting.

 

“Hi, this is Yang,” she says into the phone. “Uh, one of Weiss’ friends. She said you’re needing a place?”

 

_Yeah, I am,_ responds the smooth voice. _I just got a job in town, so rent is no problem, if you’re willing to share your space._

 

Yang perches herself on top of her counter and debates on how reasonably much she can tease this girl. After all, living with Weiss for so long has left a lot to be desired when it comes to a witty roommate, so now might be a chance for Blake to prove herself. “That depends on whether or not you can meet my criteria.”

 

_Fire away,_ Blake responds, and Yang believes she can hear a slight smile in the girl’s voice.

 

“Are you in school?” And what a dumb question for Yang to ask.

 

_My junior year,_ she answers simply. _Political science major._

 

“Would you be willing to do the dishes?”

 

To Yang’s surprise, this causes Blake to laugh the slightest amount. _Weiss did mention something about you hating them, so yes, I’ll do the dishes as long as you cook._

 

Although the cooking topic is one Yang wants to revisit, her next question is a pressing one. “Now, the most important part of this process leads to my final question.”

 

_Name it,_ Blake challenges.

 

“Do you or have you ever had murderous tendencies?”

 

***

 

They exchange too many texts for Yang to keep track of, none holding terrible significance since most have to do with the whole moving in process. One thing becomes clear quickly enough; Blake is ambiguous when it comes to where she comes from or how she knows Weiss so well. She never reveals anything too telling, so Yang heeds Weiss’ advice and treads carefully for once. She isn’t young and stupid anymore (most days), and it simply isn’t her story to tell nor is it her place to force it.

 

Plus, if she’s being honest with herself, the mystery of Blake adds to the allure this girl seems to unwittingly exude.

 

Another tendency arises the more they talk; Blake will send a text, Yang will respond, and Blake will continues the conversation, but Yang can’t stand it anymore and just calls the girl instead.

_Do you just have something against texting people,_ Blake questions.

 

“No, texting just doesn’t make sense to me.” Yang says into her phone. “People you exclamation marks and emoticons way too often.”

 

_But I haven’t used any yet_ , Blake says.

 

“We are only three texts in, so there’s always a chance you might turn into an emoji-obsessed texter.” Yang responds, causing Blake’s laughter to carry through the phone’s speaker.

 

_Plus, over text,_ Yang thinks, _I wouldn’t be able to hear you laugh like that._

 

Shaking her head free from thoughts that carry too much weight for a Monday, she begins to make plans for when Blake will arrive to move her belongings in.

 

_I should be there a little after ten o’clock tomorrow morning,_ Blake says. _And I don’t have many things with me, so if you’re not at the house, it won’t be a big deal._

 

“My class isn’t until noon tomorrow, so I should be here to help anyway. Will you need a ride from the bus station?”

 

_Well, if you’re offering, you’ll save me from having to pay for a cab._

 

“I’ll be there at ten then.” Yang says with an easy smile gracing her lips.

 

***

 

It’s a Tuesday and Yang has easily had way too many cups of coffee. She also made sure to stock up on some teas because, according to Blake, coffee’s only purpose is to kill taste buds. Yang has come to understand why Weiss appreciates Blake.

 

So with her aviators on and trying not to fall asleep standing up, Yang lounges against her car (not admitting to slightly moping on not being able to ride her motorcycle on such a sunny day, but knowing how impractical that would’ve been while helping Blake haul her stuff to the house). She patiently awaits for people to file out of the station, and as people slowly begin to trickle out of the doors, Yang is hit with a surge of panic.

 

What if she can’t recognize Blake, and the girl just walks by?

 

But what an unreasonable assumption, Yang realizes, as she spots a girl that just _has_ to be Blake. And, _oh god, please_ let that be Yang’s new roommate.

 

The girl has a yellow beanie placed perfectly on her head, sunglasses covering her eyes, a white shirt that contrasts beautifully to lightly tanned skin, duffel bag slung easily over her shoulder, and black leggings that have to be the reason that Yang has never found legs attractive until now.

 

And if Yang wasn’t already on her knees, when Blake takes off her sunglasses to reveal enchanting golden irises that put the sun to shame, Yang can only think of prayers and worship.

 

_Angels do exists_ , she thinks.

 

“Hi, I’m Blake.”

 

And somehow her voice is the silkiest thing to exist and phones will never do it her justice.

 

“Hi.” _Real smooth, Xiao Long._

 

Luckily, or to purposefully spare Yang of the awkward torture, Blake laughs. “And you’re Yang,” she says.

 

“Right,” Yang exclaims, suddenly remembering her purpose. “I’m Yang. Mind if I put your bag in the backseat?”

 

“By all means.” Blake hands over her duffel bag before seating herself in the passenger seat. Yang gets into the car as well, starting it, and begins driving towards her house.

 

“Have a good trip?” Yang asks.

 

“A fourteen hour bus ride definitely could’ve been worse but I did appreciate my welcome party, so I can’t complain too much.” She responds with a smile and a glance in Yang’s direction before turning to look out the window at the view of mountains. “I’m just surprised my welcoming party didn’t stutter more or lose the ability of speech altogether.”

 

And Yang isn’t the blushing type, but she swears she feels warmth blossom in her cheeks (and maybe her heart).

 

Yeah, something is taking root here, but not everyone has a green thumb.

 


	2. she moved in on a Tuesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake warms up to her new house and Yang warms up to Blake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who commented and/or left kudos on the last chapter! idk what i was expecting, but it made me happy to see how well the first chapter was received. this chapter is about the same length as the first one, but the chapters will become longer as we continue. hope you enjoy chapter 2!

**Tuesday**

 

The drive is rather quick despite the bus station’s distance from Yang’s house. A part of it might be because of how easy it feels to talk to Blake. The butterflies in Yang’s stomach have calmed down into a tiny, giddy flutter. She makes Yang laugh, though, and it’s a serious laugh. Blake is witty and sarcastic and has seemingly perfect timing to her remarks, and it’s so much on the same page of Yang’s humor, that it takes the blonde by surprise.

 

“Would you be insulted if I put my feet on your dash?” Blake asks. “My legs need to stretch a bit.”

 

“My car looks like shit so you can do whatever you want in it. In fact, if you don’t put your feet on my dash, I’ll be offended.” Blake laughs at Yang’s remark, doing as suggested and putting her feet up. And she looks so relaxed with the window down, allowing Blake’s black hair to twirl in the wind. She stares out the window and Yang hopes Blake doesn’t notice every time she sneaks a glance in her new roommates direction. Because beautiful is an understatement. Blake’s eyes drift closed, her arm hangs out the window, and Yang doesn’t understand how quickly this woman has grabbed her attention.

 

“I can feel you staring.” Blake remarks, causing Yang to (violently) snap her attention back to the road in front of her. But the thought strikes her of how easily this girl can fluster her, so maybe it’s time she returns the favor.

 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” Yang comments, but it loses its punch with the how soft she says it.

 

“Well, that’s quite self assured of you, don’t you think?”

 

“You were smirking the whole time, so if you didn’t like me looking at you, you would’ve said so the moment you noticed.” Yang says with her own lips slanting in a smile.

 

Blake opens her eyes, turning to meet Yang’s own before turning back to look out the window. “You’re not wrong.”

 

A song comes on the radio that reminds Yang of fireflies and night skies, so she turns the volume up and they stay in comfortable silence the rest of the ride to the house. A familiar driveway comes into view and Yang is surprised to feel a slight giddiness consume her once again. “So you mean to tell me that you live in your own house with its own yard?” Blake questions.

 

“Yeah,” Yang laughs. “Weiss didn’t tell you much did she?”

 

“Being honest, I didn’t really ask. I was expecting an apartment or something, but your own house.” She trails off, leaving the statement open-ended.

 

“This is actually where I grew up.” Yang says as her and Blake get out of the car, grabbing Blake’s belongings and walking towards the front door. “My dad, sister, and I all lived here until Ruby went off to college and Dad wanted more than just a garden in the backyard. He’s like a small time farmer or something a couple miles south of here, so he’s not too far.”

 

Yang unlocks the door and pushes it open to allow Blake inside first. The blonde watches as she takes in her new surroundings; the small kitchen and breakfast bar, humble dining room and living room, and the hallway that leads back to the two bedrooms and bathroom. “I can show you to your room if you’d like.” Yang offers as she removes her aviators and moves to set them on the kitchen counter. Blake turns to her, smiles and nods, so the girls head down the hall and Yang opens the first door they come to and motions for Blake to go inside. “It isn’t much, but you have a comfy bed and a dresser and feel free to do whatever you’d like with the space. We’ll share a bathroom which is the door right next to yours, and my bedroom is the door across the hall.”

 

Blake sets her bag on the bed and sits down, but must realize how comfortable the surface is, so she flops back and sighs. “You weren’t lying when you said this is comfy.”

 

The remark earns a laugh from the blonde. “I never lie,” she says as she puts both her hands up in a surrendering gesture.

 

Blake sits up and quirks and eyebrow at her roommate. “Why is that hard to believe.”

 

“I can prove it to you if you’d like,” Yang says as a smirk (that is slightly egotistical in character) dances across her lips. “Like how I would never lie about how amazing I can cook.”

 

“Now that is surely a lie.” Blake’s eyes glint with amusement and her lips match the tilt of Yang’s own. And  _ damn _ , do Blake’s eyes sparkle when she makes that face. “You will definitely have to prove its validity.”

 

“Is that a challenge?” Blake’s lips form a full-fledged smile, so Yang accepts that as an answer. “Well, Miss--”

 

“Belladonna.” Blake supplies.

 

“Miss Belladonna,” Yang drawls. “Do you like spaghetti?”

 

With Blake’s enthusiastic answer, the girls head to the kitchen, and while Yang begins making the meat sauce, Blake retrieves a book from her bag and makes herself comfortable at the breakfast bar.

 

“So you make your sauce from scratch?” Blake asks.

 

Yang gives an affirming nod although she’s facing away from Blake and can’t see if she notices. Yang begins turning the burner of the gas stove to a higher heat and a savory aroma fills the air. “Kinda how I said early that my dad wanted to tend to more than a backyard garden. Well, it made me sad to just see the thing without anything growing, so I started doing some of my own gardening, but it’s nothing special.”

 

“It’s definitely cool though. Not a lot of people do that.”

 

“No,” Yang shrugs and laughs. “But I’m pretty good at it, so why not, you know?”

 

“I can see that,” Blake responds with her own small laugh, causing Yang to smile unconsciously. “But I can’t relate. I definitely have a black thumb.”

 

Yang laughs at the comment and turns to face Blake, meeting golden irises. “No one has a black thumb, it just takes practice and commitment.”

“How can you possibly practice gardening if it seems that harm the plant more than I help?” One of Blake’s eyebrows quirking. And it’s  _ that _ look. Convincing Yang that even if Blake is convinced she’s no good with plants, it seems she can create butterflies within Yang’s stomach with just a look.

 

“Well, we could start you with a small flower or something.”

 

“Like in biology class during middle school?” Blake chuckles and Yang joins her.

 

“We have to start somewhere.” Yang retorts.

 

With a small laugh and a shake of her head, Blake returns to reading, so Yang turns back to her work as well. A few moments pass and Blake asks for a bottle of water, so Yang motions towards the fridge. “We have bottles in there.” Yang says almost dejectedly.

 

Blake catches the tone and asks, “Why bottles when you have a sink?”

 

“Weiss,” Yang nearly growls, which gives rise to a laugh from Blake, urging her to continue. “Because apparently faucet water can’t be trusted when it comes to being pure, but big, rich, corporate men can be? She’s scary to fight with, so I just let her win this battle.”

 

“That explains why Weiss had them, but why do you still have them if faucet water is _ so _ much better.” Blake questions amusedly as she returns to her seat at the counter.

 

“Old habits die hard. And I’d rather keep them in there for when Weiss visit because I can already hear her nagging tone while she lectures me about the purity of water.” Yang gives a faux shiver in disgust. “No thank you.”

 

Blake hums in agreement and releases a laugh a moment later. “I won’t tell her you said so.”

 

“You better not.” Yang says and looks over her shoulder to add, “I told you that in confidence.”

 

The girls share a laugh before returning back to silence as they return to their tasks. Several minutes later, as Yang is bent over the stove, stirring the sauce in the pot, watching the resulting movements attentively, her focus is cut when goosebumps rise across the span of her back and neck, almost as if someone was watching her every move.  _ It’s payback time for the incident in the car,  _ Yang thinks.  _ Watch who’ll be flustered now. _

 

She turns slightly to open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, catching the reflection of a certain black haired girl quickly resituating and snapping her gaze back down to her notebook. Yang doesn’t point it out right away, but it’s all the proof she needs to bait Blake in for it again. So as the blonde leans back to gulp down some water, she focuses on flexing her back muscles every so slightly, but more than what’s needed for simply drinking water. She feels the goosebumps rise again, so after she screws the lid on and picks up the spoon to continue cooking, she says, “You know, I can feel you staring.” She echoes Blake’s line from earlier.

 

Yang turns with a prideful smile just in time to see the softest blush rise over Blake’s cheeks as she looks anywhere but at yang before refocusing on her notebook. “You did that on purpose,” she mumbles.

 

Yang laughs. “Blake Belladonna,” she says in a teasing tone. “Are you blushing?”

 

“Fine, we’re even in the making-each-other-blush department.” Blake makes eye contact with Yang and holds her gaze, challenge alight in her golden eyes. Yang turns off the burner. “But this is just the beginning of the war, Yang--”

 

“Xiao Long,” she supplies and a warmth fills her body as Blake repeats her name. Is as if she sunbathing and the warmth is the most inviting hug she could receive. Yang walks to the counter so she’s on the opposite side from Blakes, bracing both hands on the counter and leans forward to be closer to Blake, in an almost intimidating manner. Blake blushes and her eyes flicker.  _ Did her eyes glance down to my lips or is that wishful thinking _ , but it causes Yang to smirk nonetheless. “I hope this war is far from over.”

 

Blake becomes too flustered to respond, and Yang goes back to cooking as if nothing happened, but the memory of the rosy blush across Blake’s cheeks stays imprinted in the blonde’s mind.  _ Maybe her first flower could be a red amaryllis _ , Yang entertains the thought for a moment.

 

The dinner is finished cooking not too long after their conversation ends. Blake helps Yang set the table as if she’s done it for years and grabs drink glasses for the two as if it’s an old habit. Yang brings the food to the table and serves a helping to Blake. The girl eagerly takes a bite and sighs out a pleased hum. “Okay,” Blake admits. “You weren’t lying. This is almost heavenly.”

 

“Almost?” Yang asks with a chuckle as she fills their glasses with sparkling water. “I need to step up my game. I need you thinking this is heaven and I’m an angel, or something.”

 

“Well, you certainly have the looks for it.” Blake mumbles, maybe falsely believing Yang wouldn’t hear. And Yang hopes the warmth she feels flooding her cheeks isn’t obvious as she takes her seat across from Blake. “And in case you don’t already know,” she says to Yang this time. “I’m incredibly thankful for you welcoming me here.”

 

“And I’m incredibly thankful you’re not a murderer.” Yang teases, but forgets for a moment that Blake doesn’t know about her conversations with Weiss.

 

It hardly matters though, as Blake replies, “It might still be too soon to say that, don’t you think?”

 

Yang laughs and shakes her head in amusement. “You’re right, and killing plants is always the first step towards an infamous career in murder.”

 

Blake lets out an uncontrolled chuckle before taking a sip of her drink. Yang watches attentively with a smile gracing her lips and can’t help but absorb her thoughts in red flowers, warm sunshine, and happiness that rises to the surface like bubbles.


	3. scars revealed on a Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get tense, heartwarming, and hot (maybe not in the implied way).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't explain why, but this chapter was weird for me to write. i hope it reads with a nice flow and if there are any glaring issues, please let me know in the comments! i hope you enjoy chapter 3!

**Thursday**

 

Yang has never been fond of silence. With raising her younger sister and always being quite the rambunctious child herself, Yang has never grown accustomed to silence. Which is why she becomes fidgety and slightly agitated when Blake is out of the house and she has the afternoon off, but nothing to do to entertain herself. So she goes to the garage and begins working on her motorcycle. Equipped with black leather, yellow in color, and some flashy upgrades, the thing has withstood the test of time. But due to it being stored for a couple years until Yang felt comfortable to ride again, there was some rust to wear off.

 

And that was the true test of time. Since an unfortunate incident left her squirming every time she thought of riding again, the blonde considered selling the thing multiple times, but just couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was her  _ bumblebee _ after all, and what a shame it would’ve been to just let that part of her life, her identity, go. Although it took two years, she worked up to it and is eagerly looking forward to happily enjoying her second summer of riding again.

 

It wasn’t a lie to say the thing didn’t need some TLC, because although she shaped it up enough for last summer, the engine needs cleaning and the exhaust is in rough shape. So as she begins working on cleaning up her prized possession, her music blaring behind her causes her to not hear the door opening when Blake enters. The only action to catch her attention is when the volume on the stereo is suddenly lower. Yang turns around, smiles at Blake, and stands up to greet her. “Hey, Blake,” She says as she wipes her hands free of oil. “How’d your interview go?”

 

“Extremely well,” she replies excitedly. “They offered me the job on the spot.”

 

“Aren’t you a tea drinker though?” Yang asks, leaning against a counter while Blake lifts herself to sit on the counter adjacent to Yang. Although she teases, Yang smiles and winks to let Blake know she’s proud.

 

“Yeah, but how bad can being a barista be?” Blake says with a shrugs with a smirk. “I’ll at least be making money finally.”

 

“You’ll be surrounded by the smell of coffee.”

 

“I live with you, Yang, I’m already always surrounded by the smell of coffee.” Blake teases with a lovely smile at Yang.

 

“Coffee is brain fuel, and I stand by that fact of life.” Yang retorts with a matching smile.

 

Blake rolls her eyes at Yang before turning her attention to the bike. “So this is your cherished motorcycle?”

 

“I’m surprised you never wandered in here, but yeah, this is her.” Yang waves her hand towards the yellow bike. “She’s beautiful isn’t she? We’ve been through a lot together.”

 

The statement is said in a slightly somber tone despite Yang not meaning it to, causing Blake to turn to the blonde, studying her for a moment. Instead of pressing for details, Blake turns back to the bike. “It fits you perfectly. The color almost matches your hair.”

 

The comment makes Yang laugh, shaking her head to toss her ponytail side to side as Blake watches with a smile. “That’s the only reason I ever bought my motorcycle.”

 

“I knew you were secretly a narcissist like that.” Blake hops off the counter and walks towards the bike, grazing a hand along the seat.

 

“Have a seat, Pete.” Yang offers as she walks to Blake. “I’ll even hold her steady for you once you’re seated.”

 

“Really?” Blake asks somewhat surprised. “You’d let me?”

 

“As long as you promise not to purposely tip over or anything.”

 

“You’ll be holding me,” She says with a pointed smile towards Yang. “I don’t think I’ll fall.”

 

Yang holds out her arm so Blake can grab on to steady herself, but instead of holding her arm, Blake lays her hand onto Yang’s. She swings a leg over the seat, but nearly falls, causing her hand to slide within Yang’s. The blonde adjusts her grip quickly to catch Blake, resulting in interlaced fingers and an arm around her roommate’s waist. Time stops and for how long, Yang doesn’t know, but all she sees is Blake’s eyes fixed on their interlocked hands, her eyes giving away her surprise.

 

_ This feels  _ right, Yang thinks in an instant.  _ Like a glass slipper or some shit, please tell me she feels this too. _

 

Blake settles herself onto the leather seat a beat later, carefully releasing Yang’s hand, but doing it with a sense of urgency nonetheless. Yang pretends she doesn’t feel her heart drop the smallest amount. Rather than standing at her side, Yang moves further up the bike, grabbing ahold of the handles, holding the bike steady for Blake as she leans forward and places her hands next to the blonde’s. Yang watches as her eyes trace over the bike’s features with interest. 

 

“It’s really nice.” Blake observes. She lifts her hand to trace over the many gauges on the dash by the handlebar, her eyes alight with curiosity. “It looks almost brand new.”

 

Yang laughs, pride filling her chest, as usual whenever someone compliments her bike. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve had it for nearly seven years now?”

 

Blake’s gaze meets hers, wide with amazement. “It’s in such good condition.”

 

“I like keeping it that way. Definitely a labor of love.” Although she doesn’t mean to, Yang’s voice takes on a somber tone when she says the last part. This conversation isn’t necessarily one she wants to have right now, especially since it might make Blake uncomfortable. They’ve only known each other a couple weeks at this point. Nevertheless, Blake doesn’t seem too thrown but the words, but rather seems quite welcoming and open to whatever story Yang might have to tell. Almost as if she understands on a deeper level. 

 

Yang is taken a bit by surprise when Blake’s hand travels sideway and her fingers begin tracing lightly over a collection of tattoos on Yang’s forearm, over the scars Yang would rather keep hidden. She must come across the raised skin of one as her eyebrows lift ever so slightly. She looks up at Yang, asking a question without words.

 

“It was a while ago.” Yang mentions without any conviction.

 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Blake says softly, as if she knows the pain behind a scar. Maybe she does. And the story isn’t as hard for Yang to tell anymore anyways. Blake’s hidden meaning is clear anyhow, although Yang doesn’t have to tell her, she’s more than welcome to.

 

“Would it be okay if I wanted to?” With a nod of Blake’s head and sense of welcoming, Yang ponders where to start her story. “It’s pretty epic, if I’m being honest.” Yang jokes, and it works to lighten the mood as Blake smiles. Though, the weight of a stone settles in the pit of the blonde’s stomach. She knows this isn’t going to be easy, but it’s worth sharing, right? “It was a few years ago and, firstly, I was being reckless. I was speeding and weaving in and out of traffic, but overall, the wreck definitely wasn’t my fault. It was on this bike and it had been raining, so the highways were slick.” Yang lowers her gaze to where Blake’s fingers still trace the many lines of scars, leaving behind a trail of electricity that awakens every nerve in Yang’s body. The feeling also does wonders offering support. The emotional scars are nearly healed, but somehow the physical ones are still left, allowing for a constant reminder of stolen time. “I was passing a vehicle and out of the corner of my eye, I saw them swerve towards me, so I reacted. My tire slipped and I was thrown from the bike. I wasn’t wearing long sleeves, so the road basically chewed up my arm.” She meets Blake’s gaze once again, the golden irises offering a well of unspoken sympathy.

 

Yang wants to lighten the mood, but she fights against the instinct when she see a flash of  _ something _ in Blake’s eyes. “They weren’t nice to look at.” Yang continues.  _ When in doubt, keep talking _ . And what a stupid motto for her to have. “Which explains the tattoos. But I’m smarter now when I’m on my bike. Helmet, jacket, all that.”

 

Yang watches as Blake lowers her gaze to Yang’s arm once again, observing the movements across the blonde’s skin. And she has to notice the way she makes goosebumps rise. “I have scars, too.” She mumbles, hesitation clear in every word. “I, uh—”

 

“Blake,” Yang says softly, moving her hand to hold Blake’s within hers.  _ She supported me, I’ll support her _ . Blake’s eyes return to hers once again. “You don’t have to share now. I’m all ears whenever you’re ready.”

 

Blake nods her head, turning her gaze to their joined hands. Yang can see the tension relaxing from her shoulders. Though, Blake seems to collect herself rather quickly.  _ As if this isn’t the first time she’s had to bury the past _ . She looks back up at Yang, the blonde releasing her hand and allowing them to return to their original places. “So you’re riding again?”

 

“I am, yes.” Yang confirms with a smile. “This’ll be my second year back out.

 

“Well, if you’re willing,” Blake proposes with the hint of a sparkle in her eyes. “You should let me join you sometime, so you can show me what there is to love about it.”

 

***

 

It’s a Monday when Yang realizes that Blake doesn’t know how to cook. And to describe the event as a realization may be modest considering the circumstances which the discovery was made. Yang holds a small flashlight between her teeth, hands covered in grease, while fighting to tug a panel loose and grunting out a couple cuss words every few moments. An unusually loud sizzling noise echoes through the open doorway of the garage, cutting through the sounds of metal against metal produced by Yang. The blonde lifts her head towards the house, worry begins to creep into her veins. “Blake?” She calls out after settling the flashlight on a nearby counter. The only response she receives is another sizzling sound and a yell of pain from within the house. “Blake!” Yang lets the tool in her hand fall to the floor and darts into the house.

 

The sight to greet Yang as she rounds the corner makes her stomach churn. Blake is hunched over, clutching her left wrist, and facial features tense. Yang’s head whips over to the stove, noticing water all over the stove top, counter, and floor. “Jesus, Blake, are you okay?” Yang sets a hand softly on her roommate’s back, the other one gentle holds her elbow, welcomed by Blake as she leans some of her weight into Yang. Golden eyes meet lilac, wide in pain.

 

“I burnt my hand.” Blake says simply, prompting Yang to peer down at the injured hand, the skin of it puffy and an angry red. Yang leads Blake to the sink, flipping on the cold water to create a gentle stream, and guides the dark haired girl’s hand under the cooling current.

 

“Hold you hand here, I’ll be right back.” Yang instructs, waiting until Blake’s eyes meet hers. “I’ll be right back. I have burn cream somewhere.” After a small nod that causes dark hair to sway, Yang dashes into the bathroom, immediately moving to search through the medicine cabinet. After finding a tube of cream that promises relief to burns and a couple Band-Aids, she hurries back out into the kitchen where Yang is able to take note of the way it seems Blake’s shoulders have relaxed a little bit. The crease between her brows is also gone, causing Yang to be slightly surprised to find herself disappointed with the lack of the cute crease. She files that thought away as she reaches Blake.

 

Before she can even ask, Blake says, “It isn’t as bad anymore. Still hurts, but the water is helping.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry to do this to you, but I’m gonna have to torture you just a little bit then.” Yang says with a slight smile while holding up the cream and Band-Aid. THe attempt to lighten the mood works as Blake’s lips tilt in a teeth-absent smile. “Wanna move over to the couch and I’ll get you all patched up?”

 

Blake agrees, grabbing the supplies and moving to sit on the couch while Yang washes the grease from her arms before moving to join her roommate in the living room. She sits on the coffee table across from Blake, the girls exchanging the supplies again, and Yang grasps her wrist gently, guiding it in front of her for a closer look. Blisters have risen to the surface and Yang winces in sympathy before releasing her hold and moving to undo the cap of the burn cream, applying the ointment to the cotton swab in hand.

 

“You’re gonna have to roll up your sleeves for me.” Yang murmurs and Blake does so slowly and silently. Yang should’ve taken note, should’ve noticed the pained expression. She really should’ve been watching.

 

Yang turns back to the burnt hand in front of her, carefully lowering the the cream onto the red skin, unfortunately causing Blake to release a small grunt of pain. Yang winces and mutters an apology. “I don’t mean to hurt you more.” She looks up to meet irises that sparkle with understanding despite obvious pain. “Just a little more and then we’ll be done.”

 

She moves upwards along Blake’s arm to a small blister near her wrist, but she freezes at the site of many other similarly colored marks along Blake’s arm. A long, thin white mark stretches up the length of her arm, disappearing under the rolled up shirt sleeve. Circular shaped scars also adorn the girl’s arm, taking a count of four visible across her forearm.

 

Yang realizes she’s made her hesitation obvious as Blake slowly retracts her arm and murmurs out a soft “Yang.” And is that a hint of pleading Yang hears in her voice? She wishes she wouldn’t have been so taken aback by how familiar the sight of scars is to her, but how different these ones felt.

 

Yang fixes her gaze up, only to see a curtain of black hair covering Blake’s face as she looks down at her own arm. She begins to unroll her sleeve. “I’m sorry.” She says too softly.

 

The pang of  _ something _ that drives through Yang’s heart is anything but soft and it calls her to act quickly. “Please don’t.” She pleas, moving her hand up to gently clasp the fingers unrolling Blake’s black shirt. The hold is light enough to offer Blake the chance to pull away, but she doesn’t, which does wonders of warming the feeling coursing through Yang’s heart to something manageable. “Please don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have reacted that way, so if anything, this is on me.” Blake’s gaze finally meets hers, worry evident in her eyes. “We don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable, but I can keep patching you up.”

 

Blake opens her mouth to say something, but must rethink it as she snaps it shut again. Lowering her head to her lap again, Yang can’t help but want to show her that she’s safe to be expressive, but she doesn’t have to explain quite yet. “And you don’t have to tell me yet,” Yang adds in a steady voice, slowly raising her other hand to cup Blake’s jaw after setting the cotton swab down. The action effective in bringing their eyes to meet once more. “Just like when we were talking about my scars. I don’t want you to share until you want to.” Yang half thinks it’s her imagination when Blake leans slightly into her touch. The close proximity suddenly registers within Yang’s mind and the warmth of Blake’s cheek in her palm sparks her nerves alive. And is that Blake’s breath she can feel ghosting across her lips? But now is not the time. Definitely not the time.

 

_ Maybe some other time when I’m making her laugh _ , Yang catches herself thinking, with a slight blush she hopes Blake doesn't notice. The phrase  _ some other time  _ coursing through her head once more.

 

After she grazes her thumb over the soft skin of Blake’s cheek in what she hope can be dismissed as an accident, she moves to grab the medical supplies once more. “Although, I will be implementing a new rule,” Yang teases, causing Blake’s eyebrows to quirk with interest and challenge. “You aren’t allowed back in my kitchen. Ever.”

 

A weight lifts from Yang’s chest she wasn’t aware was there until Blake laughs, a lighter mood returning to the room. “It isn’t as if I could cook anyways.” Blake says through her soft laughter.

 

Yang smiles brightly, adoring the way Blake seems to have settled a little more comfortably into the couch and her hand back into Yang’s to continue their previous task. “As long as you’re admitting it.”

 

Later that night, after Yang gives up staring at her computer screen and not writing a single word for her research essay for two hours, she walks to the living room to tell Blake she’s going to bed. She walks towards the couch, only to notice and figure sprawled across the length of the cushions, book laying open on her chest, black hair fanned out in a way that has Yang pause for a moment.

 

Yang feels her lips form a gentle smile as she absorbs how relaxed Blake appears to be, how small she seems to be. The blonde kneels beside her roommate gently nudging her shoulder, and murmuring her name, but to no avail. And how horrible of a roommate would she be if she woke Blake up from such a peaceful sleep? Instead, Yang gently lifts the book from her chest, transferring the bookmark from the coffee table to its proper place with the book. Yang stands and grabs a blue blanket from the living chair before returning to Blake’s side. She unfolds the blanket, setting it carefully along the length of Blake’s body. Ever so delicately, Yang moves the bandaged hand from its limply hanging position off the couch to Blake’s side. The blonde, maybe against better judgement, grazes her finger tips along the bandages and to the start of the long scar along the tanned arm. She removes her touch (although not as shocked to find herself disappointed in having to do so) and settles the top of the blanket across Blake’s shoulders. Yang rises to her full height, walking to the end table to blow out the dim candle there, before exiting the room with a whispered, “Good night.”


	4. realizations on a Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake is gaining new perspectives and meets new (crazy) friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start by saying I’m sorry for taking so long to update. Life decided to take a few turns that I never could’ve been prepared for, so it’s been a hell-ride of a month for me. Anyways, if you feel like leaving feedback, constructive criticism, or just some nice words in the comments, it’d be greatly appreciated. But without further ado, please enjoy this chapter!

**Wednesday**

 

It’s the flowers that cause realization to strike Blake -- the first caution sign on a long, winding road she didn’t notice she was on. It always happens in quick succession; the events leading up to a realization always seem to roll out smoothly without too much commotion, until it’s too late to reverse or change lanes. The sun shines in places it didn’t prior to Yang, Blake begins to realize, she’s standing differently than she did in the past -- seeing things from a new angle. The thought sends a punch through her gut in front of a flower shop of all places. After finishing her shift (which was less than productive due to her still healing hand), she stares at a small bouquet of red amaryllis through a display window. They aren’t just flowers to Blake anymore. Now, there’s a story, a memory and the flowers will never be simple, meaningless flowers anymore.

 

When she arrives home, she spots blonde hair reflecting the sun outside, Yang bent over the dirt, spreading it around with her hands. Truth be told, Blake has no idea what she’s doing, but the dirt mixes with the artful tattoos along Yang’s arm, and the definition of dirt changes for Blake in a moment. The dark specks have added shadows to the many lines, swirls, and colors, and Blake traces it with her eyes, not noticing the pair of lavender eyes watching her own.

 

“Hey, Belladonna.” Yang sits back on her heels. “You gonna just stand and stare or are you going to help?”

 

That’s an incredibly bad idea. “I have a black thumb.”

 

A knowing smirk plays across the blonde’s lips -- a joke Blake’s been left out of. “I don’t believe in those.”

 

Blake walks closer to her roommate, enjoying a rare moment of standing taller than the blonde (and having the blonde on her knees before her, reminds a darker part of her mind). “You also believed anyone could learn how to cook.” She lifts her bandaged hand up in display. “You were wrong about that one for sure.”

 

“Not every lesson is successful, sometimes the student just doesn’t catch on quickly.” Yang says with a quirk to her brow, moving a curious three-pronged tool to the side. “I’m not about to shame slower learners.”

 

“Slow learner?” Blake lets out a laugh of mockery. “I think the teaching method is to blame and the teacher’s belief system. Obviously there’s improvement to be made, and blaming the student is hardly an ethical practice.”

 

Yang’s smirk morphs into a wide, prideful grin -- it’s nice to have someone who can dish it all right back. “Then sit and help. We’ll see who’s really at fault after this lesson.”

 

Blake kneels across from Yang, observing all the tools and seed packets spread around. The lack of gloves is apparent to her, and her facial features give her away as Yang releases a chuckle.

 

“Oh, Blake.” Blake lifts her gaze to Yang. “You’re about to be schooled.”

 

Blake wonders if an injury can occur from eye rolling too aggressively.

 

***

 

It’s Thursday and, truth be told, they don’t see each other that often, as odd as that might be. Sure, they live together, but sharing common areas doesn’t guarantee shared time. Final exams start next week, so Yang is busy with class work and Blake is finally working full time again after her hand was considered fully healed — still hurts when she stretches her fingers wide though.

 

They’re busy, which means when it comes around to meeting Yang’s friends, it’s kind of a big deal.

 

“They’re rambunctious, I’m warning you right now.” Yang says as she lifts the lid to the pot that holds the chili for tonight’s dinner. “Sun and Neptune can definitely be a lot to handle, especially around new people.”

 

“Not very different from talking to your sister over the phone for the first time.” Blake feels like it’s just a given that Yang hangs around people of high energy — it’s the crowd she attracts. There’s something about an aura of danger that seems to entice easily excitable people.

 

Yang grabs two bowls and fills each with a spoonful of chili, setting one down in front of Blake and taking hers to sit next to the raven haired girl at the breakfast bar. “Although you have a point, it’s just different with these two. You guys will get along though, no worries.”

 

Blake glances at Yang before blowing cool air over her spoon. “If I can handle you, I can handle anything.”

 

Maybe it’s flirting; it feels like it could be.

 

The chili is delicious; of course it is.

 

***

 

Finals week is approaching and that’s worth celebrating -- which is exactly what Yang’s blonde friend mentions the second he walks through the door. “Next time, we need to party!”

 

The slight irritation shows in Yang’s features as her eyebrows draw closer together. She holds the door open as the blonde and a blue-haired guy walk into the house, further annoying Yang when it’s apparent they’ve brought none of their own drinks. “I’m starting to feel like the only reason you guys come over so willingly is because I always end up providing the drinks.”

 

“Even more of a reason for us to actually go out and party next time.” The blonde flops himself unceremoniously on the couch and Yang and the other guy walk into the living room. “We could even invite Weiss back into town!”

 

Blake watches the exchange between everyone, how they all settle into their rolls as if this is a ritual and there isn’t a stranger in the room. Yang hands a dark bottle to everyone in the room as the two strangers make themselves comfortable wherever they please. The boys aren’t scared of not knowing someone in the room; Blake can’t decide if that should disturb her.

 

Yang hands Blake a bottle as well, throwing her a wink before sitting on the ground next to Blake’s chair. “I could probably convince Weiss to come down for the weekend and Ruby would be back too. If we’re going though, we need to bring Blake.” Yang nudges her head towards the raven haired girl. “Blake, these two have manners, I promise.”

 

The blonde stranger sits up, raising his hand in the air. “I’m Sun,” he nudges his hand towards his companion. “And this is Neptune.”

 

Neptune’s blue hair shifts as he nods his head with a mumbled,  _ what’s up _ .

 

“Blake.” She introduces herself. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 

And it isn’t exactly a lie. She’s happy to finally know the two that constantly call to try and impress Yang with stories of their new reckless adventures. Even with their rambunctious tendencies, Yang is clearly fond of these two.

 

The conversation is settled quickly with everyone being happy to get the big group together to go bar hopping the weekend after finals. Blake mentions that it’d be nice to get out and explore the nightlife of her new city. Yang gives her an encouraging smile, and suddenly spreading her wings isn’t a frightening thing.

 

They talk for a couple hours and it’s relaxing. Blake can’t help but wonder if it’s like this every time they all hang out together. It’s obvious that Sun and Neptune admire Yang, and the more she hears from her roommate, Blake can’t help but completely understand why. She’s simply just  _ cool _ . She’s been through shit, she’s done a lot, been to a ton of places and isn’t afraid to talk about it. So when Sun gets around to asking about Blake’s history, she hesitates. Her gaze focuses on the bottle in her hands, the golden light from the lamp causing the brown bottle to appear red…

 

The color never leaves her mind, dripping from the walls, tainting her world. Even now, so far away from the true physical presence of her nightmares, she still surrounded by the reminders. And people can’t help but dig.

 

“Blake needed a new job and I needed a roommate.” Yang offers, her eyes already on Blake when she finally looks up from the bottle. The blonde’s eyes are soft, her brows tilted in worry, but they don’t hold any curiosity. She won’t push for truth when she must know that Blake is running from it. “It all happened to be right timing, I guess.”

 

They settle on playing a drinking game to an old animated movie from their childhoods. Although endearing at first, they all end up drinking one too many, so when Sun starts talking about fireworks and wants to find a lighter, Neptune calls them a ride home and Yang walks them out.

 

“Are they dating?” Blake asks after the front door is shut.

 

Yang chuckles as she makes her best attempt at walking back to the couch. She grabs a blanket and sinks into the cushions. “No, but when I first met them, I would’ve thought the same thing if Weiss wasn’t so obviously into Neptune and he wasn’t leading her on.”

 

“Wait, Weiss was into Neptune?” Blake asks in astonishment. That’s new ammo to tease her friend with.

 

“Yes, but you didn’t hear that from me. Weiss would literally kill me.” Yang holds open one side of the blanket and beckons Blake to come share. She can’t deny that she’s shivering and her mind is definitely too muddled to allow her to be fully aware of her actions. Blake settles next to her roommate with a quiet  _ thank you _ .

 

“She is rich, she could easily hire an assassin.”

 

“Well, Belladonna, if I’m ever spontaneously missing one day, you know who to accuse first.” Yang leans her head back against the cushions, eyes closed and with a small smile playing on her lips. Blake’s thankful her eyes are closed -- the blonde’s lips have a graceful pink hue to them she hadn’t noticed before.

 

“Are you kidding? Weiss is too smart for leaving witnesses.” Blake teases as she copies Yang’s posture. “If she’s putting a hit out on you, I’d be a goner too.”

 

Yang opens one eye to glance at Blake. “I guess we’re in this together.”

 

Their thighs touch under the blankets ever so slightly and the heat radiating from Yang keeps Blake from shivering in the cool night’s air.

 

She doesn’t remember falling asleep.

 

***

 

Blake remembers only a few details from her nightmares and none of those details are usually parts of the actual dream, but rather, she remembers the emotions and how unsettled she is when she wakes up. She remembers the paralysis, the shadows in corners of already dark rooms, the panic during her finally waking from the state of fear. This one is no different. The walls collapse in, her heart constricts, the shadows move closer, the hands close around her throat.

 

She wakes with a start nonetheless. Her senses are overloaded with many details in an instant. There’s isn’t light coming in through the windows yet, whatever pillow her head rests on is incredibly warm, and there’s a hand stroking her bangs away from her eyes.

 

“I’m sorry.” Yang’s voice is hardly a whisper. “You were breathing fast and squirming, so I thought I could try to help.”

 

The hand on her forehead stills and begins to slowly remove itself, the body it belongs to visibly tense. Blake realizes many things yet again; her pillow is Yang’s shoulder, Yang was trying to soothe her by combing through her hair, and Blake had probably woke her up with her movements while she was dreaming. She catches Yang’s hand before it moves to far way and grazes her thumb across the soft palm. Blake lifts her head to meet Yang’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I probably woke you by moving around so much. Thank you,” Blake looks to the hand in her grasp. “This hardly happens.”

 

It’s a lie and Yang probably knows, but Blake can’t drag her into this. Instead of calling her out in that moment, Yang’s body relaxes and Blake relaxes with her, setting her head on her roommate’s shoulder yet again. The hand resumes combing through her hair and Blake allows her eyes to drift close again. Maybe she’s still slightly intoxicated from early.

 

Maybe there’s other factors at play -- other emotions Blake doesn’t want to acknowledge.

 

Yang isn’t scared though; head-on is more like her style. “You’re a liar,” the blonde whispers. Somehow it isn’t threatening, the words are said to softly to be an accusation. Rather, it feels like Yang is guiding her to stand in front of a mirror. The blonde isn’t one to take words at face value, she knows better than that. Though, in the end, they both know Blake needs to see it for herself. “We have this in common and I know that waking yourself up is sometimes the hardest part.”

 

Even nights aren’t out of Yang’s reach; redefining Blake’s world seems like such a simple task when Yang’s involved. 


	5. risk taking on a Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm officially back on my shit again! I'm settled into a new city, finally have a routine, and all that good stuff, so updates will be posted more regularly. I promise I haven't forgotten about this story. As always, hope you all enjoy this chapter and feel free to let me know what you think in comments, kudos, or whatever suits you :) Thanks for reading!

(The red amaryllis bouquet is still there when she walks by the shop after her shift. She stops and stares, again, and can’t help but see Yang in them. The red tint of her roommate’s blush when the tip toe between friendly teasing and flirting, the red hue to her eyes when she’s excited or immensely amused; Yang lives in these flowers.

 

So Blake walks in, the bell above the door chiming. She can’t help but think of angel wings and a rising blush adoring a certain blonde’s cheeks.

 

She buys a small seed packet with hopes of finding beauty in red once again.)

 

***

 

It’s a Sunday and plans have become messy and hazy, that’s just how it goes sometimes. The end of the semester has finally arrived and Yang is never home. Well, not quite never, but the times when she is at their shared house, she’s hyper focused on textbooks and diagrams. So it only makes sense that Yang didn’t look up when Blake entered the kitchen, but the incessant ringing of a cell phone was going to drive Blake crazy.

 

Blake sets her backpack on the counter while analyzing her roommate. Yang is hunched over the dining table and shows no sign of moving to answer her cell phone. Blake straightens up to walk over to the blonde, placing a hand on her shoulder and softly speaking her name. Yang lurches slightly and looks up to Blake with surprise sparkling in her lilac eyes. Her gaze snaps to her cell phone and she swipes on the screen with her thumb, bringing it to her ear quick as lightning. The sound of Weiss’ voice is as obvious as always as she greets Yang.

 

Blake walks over to retrieve her apron from within the backpack as she hears Yang respond to Weiss in a raspy voice. Blake blames her goosebumps on the air conditioning of the house as she walks over to put her apron in the washing machine, hearing Yang finish her conversation with Weiss. She’s seated on the kitchen counter, leaning against the fridge as Blake returns to the main room, rubbing her hands across the length of her face. Her shoulders are hunched and Blake can see the weight of exhaustion she’s never noticed within Yang before. Lilac meets gold as Yang lifts her head from against the fridge and a soft smile graces her lips.

 

“You look exhausted.” Blake comments as she moves to lean against the counter opposite the blonde. The implied suggestion of rest hangs in the air as Yang releases a short laugh, smiling to the floor guiltily.

 

“It’ll all pay off shortly.” She responds with a slight shake of her head. She meets Blake’s eyes once again. “Weiss is coming to town after finals and _insists we spend quality time having some fun for a weekend_ ,” Yang raises her voice a touch to mimic their friend, causing Blake to giggle at the eerily accurate imitation. “Her words.”

 

“You’ve practiced that, haven’t you?” Blake teases.

 

“I’ve lived with her for so long, it’s hard not to poke a little fun. Plus,” Yang scoots to the edge of the counter, leaning closer to Blake. She lowers her voice to convey secretly, “she’s so easy to offend.”

 

Blake laughs with a shake of her head, quirking a brow at her roommate. Yang drops to the ground, spreads her arms out to either side openly; a warm invitation radiating from her presence.

 

“So, what do you say Blake,” the blonde takes a step forward and Blake instantly feels the magnetic pull she always feels around Yang. Wanting her to get closer, begging her to take part in whatever Yang has to offer. Yang gives her a smile and the question falls from her lips like she already knows the answer. “Wanna party?”

 

***

 

It’s a Monday and finals are coming to a stressful close, so Blake has been trying to hold off on showing Yang the seeds she bought, thinking that, at worst, she can look up a YouTube video and plant them on her own. But the blonde leans against the wall, arms crossed, simply staring at Blake. She pretends not to notice the direct look as she flips to the next page of her book, only looking up when she hears Yang clear her throat. “Can I help you with something?” Blake asks nonchalantly.

 

Yang tosses the avoided seed packet with an eyebrow quirked, the question clear in her eyes. Blake reaches a hand up and catches the packet against her chest, not bothering to look at it. Instead, she marks her page, sets the book on the coffee table, and looks at Yang expectantly. “Do you even have enough time to teach me how to plant these?”

 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Yang puts both hands over her heart, feigning hurt. “We need to get these planted as soon as possible.”

 

“You’re so dramatic.” Blake complains on an exhale as she moves to stand directly in front of Yang. With her free hand, she grabs both of the blonde’s hands to pull them away from her chest, opening them and placing the seed packet in Yang’s palms. Blake feels something spark in her own hand at the contact. She looks up into lilac irises. She feels a fleeting memory somewhere in her mind, she feels an urge to get closer somewhere in her soul. Blake can’t help but notice how Yang’s eyes hold agreement, how they reflect her sentiment. She glances at Yang’s lips, see the pink shade and recognizes the red flags. As quickly as the urge to give in appears in Blake’s heart, she acknowledges the warning signs, taking a step back and refocusing on the packet now in Yang’s hands. Blake can’t help but think of other things Yang’s hands could hold, but she’s risked enough lately, and shattered pieces aren’t easy to hold.

 

“Teach me how to garden.” It comes off as more of a question than a statement. She’s showing her cracks.

 

Blake can feel Yang’s gaze searching her face and her demeanor switches back to goofy and light. Blake knows her roommate isn’t the oblivious type, but it’s too early in the day to face the truth head on. They live together, risks doesn’t always end in paradise.

 

“Let the teaching begin!” Yang’s lips lilt in a smirk. “Try to keep up and you’ll be a green thumb in no time.”

 

After grabbing a sturdy planting pot, some soil and fertilizer from the garage, they end up on the patio with Yang talking Blake through step by careful, considerate step.

 

“This kind of flower usually takes about a month to sprout and we’ll keep it inside by a window since it doesn’t need direct sunlight until later.” Blake nods along as Yang talks her through everything. After placing the soil and seeds in their places, Yang leads Blake inside once more, placing the pot on the floor by the sliding doors. “We just have to make sure to keep them watered--”

 

“No.” Blake interrupts, her gaze stuck on the red flower pot even after noticing Yang look at her in confusion. She meets the blonde’s gaze and continues, “Not ‘we’. I want to do this. We’re making me into a green thumb, right?”

 

Yang laughs after hearing her determination. “Alright then, consider this your first official exam.”

 

***

 

Blake can’t seem to find a comfortable sleeping position now, not with her heart racing and sweat beading down her forehead. Her skin is clammy, making it feel like it’ll crawl off her skeleton if she sees a shadow that looks too much like the broad shoulders she can’t forget. Blake throws the linen covers off, shrugs on her black robe, rooting her feet to the ground, hoping to root her soul back to her body. Her memories are never actively vivid anymore, but dreams have a tendency to throw in extremes, creating lurking danger, urging her to run. Somewhere, anywhere.

 

She ends up seated at the counter, mug of tea clutched between her hands, gaze fixed to the shadows of trees that contrast only a touch to the dark hues of the night. It’s always shadows, no matter where she turns, it’s all she sees, all she can feel.

 

The sound of someone’s feet softly padding on the floor causes Blake to quickly train her gaze on her company. Yang leans against the wall, hair seeming to glow and her eyes twinkle. A few shadows scurry away from Yang’s light.

 

“I’m sorry if I woke you.” Blake’s voice is raspy and slightly broken at the edges. She can’t remember screaming in her sleep, but who knows. She should apologize for that too.

 

Yang must see her begin to say more because she waves her hand as soon as Blake’s mouth opens, walking to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. She leans on the counter directly in front of Blake. “You didn’t,” she states plainly, leaving no room for a refute. She glances at Blake’s mug. “Lavender?”

 

She nods as Yang smiles softly, placing a hand over one of her own and leaning over the mug to smell the tea. Even after straightening, Yang doesn’t remove her hand, but begins to glide her fingers across smooth skin instead. Like magic, Blake’s skin doesn’t feel so foreign.

 

“Those flowers are also called belladonnas.” Yang says pointedly, glancing to the flower pot by the backdoor.  “Might be a little while, but they’ll sprout despite the weight on top of them. And so will you.”

 

It’s simple, it’s painfully honest. And somehow, Blake believes that Yang has seen her soul, read over the lines, maybe taken a peek at the last page and decided to hint at the ending. Yang holds admiration in her eyes, and Blake sees her soul too, sees the sun and feels its warmth.

 

There aren’t as many shadows tonight.

 

***

 

Weiss is all about entrances. Not the dramatic ones, but rather entrances of a classier tone. Of course, she holds herself to a higher standard than everyone else, so nobody expects anything less than her opening the door to Yang’s house and announcing the fact that they need to get going. There’s a schedule somewhere, one in which no one else sees it but Weiss.

 

There’s time for greetings though, as Weiss clutches Blake in a rare hug. Not always the hugging type, but knowing there’s a time and place, and it’s now or never. “How are you?” Weiss asks, leaving the depth of the question entirely up to Blake.

 

She’s a lot of things: happy, comfortable, adjusting, still running some days, but running less. She sums it up with a smile and a calm, “I’m good.”

 

Weiss searches her eyes, finds what she needs and pulls away with a nod. She focuses her gaze on Yang, so Blake does the same. She sees Yang’s Vans, ripped black jeans, yellow shirt and leather jacket, looking every bit a woman ready to own the night.

 

“You.” Weiss accuses. Yang throws her arms out in response and smiles brightly, glancing at Blake and winking before refocusing on Weiss. Blake blushes, looking towards the ground, hoping her hair provides a thick enough curtain to hide her face.

 

“Come on and hug me already, I know you want to.” Yang’s smile is obvious in her voice, and no matter how stubborn she may act, Weiss quickly accepts the offer.

 

They all walk to the door, Weiss turns and finally studies their attire. Blake’s purple off-the-shoulder sweater, black jeans and boots must meet her standards because she nods, saying, “At least you know how to dress. Mind giving a few pointers to your roommate?”

 

Yang laughs, filled with pure delight. Weiss rolls her eyes and suggests they all go to her car.

 

“I don’t know how far, but she has a stick up her ass.” Yang whispers into Blake’s ear, and as much as she tries not to be too obvious, the remark causes Blake to explode in laughter. Weiss shoots Yang a glare, consequently relegating the blonde to the back row of seats in the SUV. Blake takes pity and joins her after stopping to pick up the rest of their group.

 

“I should’ve known you’d be too fancy for Lyft,” says Sun after he and Neptune join the ride. “How much do you pay your drivers by the way?”

 

Weiss simply rolls her eyes responding with, “Why? Do you need a job?”

 

Neptune cackles out a laugh, causing Sun’s rebuttal to go unheard. Blake smiles at the exchange, happy to be surrounded by happy kind of chaos. She happens to lean over and catches Yang’s gaze, a soft smile gracing her own lips.

 

“What?” Blake asks quietly, curiously.

 

“You look happy.” Blake wonders if Yang means for her comment to sound so much like a question.

 

“I am happy,” she responds, validates.

 

“Good.” Yang says with resolution, focusing her gaze at their friends seated in front of them. Blake almost doesn’t hear the soft repeat of “good,” as Yang murmurs to herself.

 

***

 

They’re four shots in when Yang asks Blake to dance. As the night’s energy grows, so does the confidence behind their touches. After a couple drinks and one shot, the rest of their group decides to dance. Blake needs a little more convincing, so Yang stays back to entertain her roommate and talk her into another shot. After the second one goes down with a trail of fire in her throat, Blake laughs more openly, laying a hand on Yang’s forearm after a particularly funny line. The third shot and Blake has her hand on Yang’s shoulder, then her neck, leaning her head on the blonde’s shoulder. Blake straightens, downs her fourth shot and feels Yang’s forehead rest against the side of her head. “Dance with me,” she says into her ear.

 

“Yes,” Blake answers, pleading. Regardless, this is a need and it’s clawing its way to the surface of her skin.

 

They end up on the dance floor, the current song loose and lively, insighting happiness. They dance near each other, open and friendly. But they hold each other’s gaze and Blake feels the undertones. They aren’t friendly; they’re driven and purposeful because friends don’t do this, do they?

 

The song changes and so does the space between them. Blake wraps her arms around Yang’s shoulders, fingers curling into golden hair. Yang’s arms fit around her hips and Blake can’t help but think of puzzle pieces, perfect edges and rounded corners. The song speaks of friction, so they add it, bodies moving against each other as if all this time without it has been a waste. Maybe it has.

 

The song talks about powder and fuses, Blake feels sparks. The undertones are passion, Blake decides. Desire has never been so plainly obvious, addiction has never been such a perfect choice. She’s enchanted and enrapture in Yang’s presence, and she knows the blonde feels it too.

 

The song morphs into another, so their rhythm dies, but the feeling remains, electrified in the little space between them. Their gazes remain locked, Blake finds that lilac might be her favorite shade of purple, and Yang’s irises cradle the color perfectly. She’s unsure who’s been leaning closer, but she feels Yang’s breath across her lips, blaming the feeling of intoxication purely and solely on the shots of tequila from earlier. The magnetic feeling is there again and it’s begging for recognition.

 

The shouting of Blake’s name is barely heard over the music. The two girls turn to see Sun approaching them with a bounce in his step, promptly releasing each other, but staying close. Too much space would feel like a betrayal to fate. “She finally convinced you to come dance,” he yells over the music. “This is awesome!”

 

“Do you want another drink?” Yang asks into her ear. After Blake gives her a nod, Yang walks in the direction of the bar, sliding a hand across Blake’s back before being swallowed by the boisterous crowd. Blake watches her go, sparks igniting across her back, spirling their way into her heart and soul.

 

Two songs have come and gone and Sun’s talking, Blake knows but doesn’t listen; she has one thing on her mind, and the occupant of her thoughts hasn’t returned. She excuses herself to the bathroom, she can’t seem too attached this early in the night. Purposefully, she walks passed the bar, searching for the golden hair she’s begun to associate to a beacon. Beacon of what? That has yet to be determined.

 

Blake spots the flaming mane, hope and relief flooding her veins, but are promptly followed by a surprising touch of disappointment at the scene she encounters.

 

He’s got his hand against the counter, inches away from Yang who’s facing towards the bar. An optimistic part of Blake hopes that Yang’s body language means she isn’t interested, but when she spots her roommate’s lips quirk into a subtle smile, the hope fizzles out. He’s blonde and trying too hard, but Yang tucks hair behind her ear and faces him now and away from Blake. She pivots abruptly because, God, she just needs to get away. And her churning stomach indicates butterflies of the wrong kind. Nothing feels right.

 

She isn’t even fully turned away from the downfall of her heart before her shoulder collides with someone else’s. Blake’s eyes meet the intruder’s and her whole body feels close to giving, but like hell is she going to show it, especially in front of Sun.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a slight slur to his words, but once he looks over Blake’s shoulder, his face falls to a neutral state. “You know, this is going to be so funny in the future.”

 

Blake’s eyes must speak for the flare of fire she feels in her soul because Sun immediately puts his hands up in a show of mercy and backtracks slightly. “Don’t punch me yet. All I’m trying to say is that you might want to stick around.”

 

“I don’t want to know what happens next.” Blake means for her words to be cold, biting to drive Sun away so she can leave this scene behind. But her voice is small, proving she can’t shake the weight that’s settling in her stomach no matter how well she fakes it.

 

Sun’s hands drop to his sides as he glances back in what must be Yang’s direction, Blake’s gaze stays trained on him, unwilling to verify the progress of Yang’s night. Sun turns back to Blake wearing a slight smirk. He leans in and although Blake’s body locks up at the proximity, he isn’t closing the distance for anything other than to whisper a sentence that shatters Blake.

 

“Running away doesn’t solve anything.” It’s an honest statement, meant to point to a flaw and beg for change. It feels like a punch to the gut. Sun steps back and gestures in Yang’s direction with his arm. “Maybe you should talk to her instead.” He presses his palm against Blake’s back and pushes her towards Yang.

 

Now fully facing her blonde roommate, she sees the end result of the scene she couldn’t bare to witness only moments prior: Yang, sitting alone, slowly sipping from a glass of water. She must feel eyes on her because she turns and her eyes meet Blake’s from across the room, like they were destined to. Blake feels her body relax and an electric feeling she can’t put words to courses through her veins.

 

Yang smiles. Blake’s resolve shatters.

 

She turns sharply to her left and paces out the exit, the world around her blurring as tears form in her eyes.

 

***

 

It’s a Saturday night and Yang can feel it slipping from her grip. As soon as Blake runs away, so does Yang’s smile. She plants both feet on the ground and follows in her roommate’s direction, water being forgotten on the counter. She shoves through the door, shoes creating a splash in a puddle as she steps into the alleyway. Rain seems to be their only setting of choice for a heart to heart conversation tonight.

 

Yang looks down the alley, spotting Blake at the other end with her hands stuffed in her jeans pockets and face towards the looming black sky. The blonde runs to catch up, watching Blake’s shadow stretch across the brick wall.

 

“Blake,” She calls as she arrives at her roommate‘s side, placing a hand on her shoulder to bring the pair to a halt. “What’s going--”

 

Blake levels her gaze with Yang, and she can’t articulate her thoughts anymore. The rain has settled on Blake’s cheeks, possibly mixing with tears, but there’s no way to know, as it’s too dark to see if her eyes are red. Yang doesn’t know the damage or why there is any to begin with, but all she sees is the mask Blake wears so effortlessly well.

 

Yang’s own mask dropped the moment she watched Blake take off out the exit; it shatters as she watches Blake now. She can’t let this continue.

 

Her hand migrates from Blake’s shoulder to just below her ear. Yang can feel the silk of the raven hair that flutters in the breeze, becoming damp from the falling droplets. She can feel the smoothness of the skin leading up to a scar she knows exists just below Blake’s chin. She wants to kiss the scar.

 

Yang’s gaze floats to Blake’s lips and she swears they move to form her name, but all she hears is her heartbeat as it carries a faster rhythm. She wants to kiss Blake.

 

Her heartbeat stops and in one quick breath she says, “Kiss me.”

 

Seemingly liquid gold eyes meet lilac as Blake searches her gaze. “Yang,” she repeats. “We--”

 

Yang tilts her head down and whispers brokenly, “Please.” She holds her breath as she watches Blake’s lips close the space between them.

 

Blake kisses Yang; her heart finding its rhythm again.


End file.
